His eyes found hers immediately, and something in his expression shifted—concern, maybe. Or understanding. “You ready?”
Naomi looked down at Grace, then back at him. “As ready as I’m going to be.”
He crossed the room and picked up the diaper bag. “I’ll get this. You get her.”
Naomi nodded and lifted Grace into her arms. The baby settled against her chest, warm and solid, and Naomi held her a little tighter than necessary.
You can do this,she told herself one more time.
This time, she almost believed it.
Micah kept his eyes on the road and his hands steady on the wheel, but his attention was split.
Half of it was on the route—the curves, the traffic, the mirrors. Watching for anything out of place. Any vehicle that followed too long. Any sign that someone had decided today was the day to make a move.
The other half was on Naomi.
She sat in the back seat beside Grace’s car seat, her hand resting on the edge of the carrier like she couldn’t quite letgo. Her face was turned toward the window, but he saw her reflection in the glass. He noticed the tightness around her mouth and the way her shoulders stayed rigid no matter how much the SUV swayed on the curves.
She was anxious.
He didn’t blame her.
“Micah?” Her voice broke the silence, quiet and uncertain.
He glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Yes?”
“What’s the jail going to be like when we get there?”
“We’ll check in at the front desk. You’ll need to show ID. They’ll ask for documentation on the emergency placement—Karen should have sent that ahead, but you have the paperwork just in case, right?”
“I do.” Naomi nodded, her hand tightening on the car seat.
“They’ll take us through security,” Micah continued. “Metal detector. Bag check. Standard procedure.”
“Okay.”
“The visit itself will be in a room with individual stations. Glass partitions. Phones on either side for communication. You’ll sit with Grace on one side, Sissy will be on the other.”
Naomi’s reflection shifted, her expression tightening further. “She won’t be able to hold her.”
“No, she won’t.”
Naomi was quiet a moment. Then she asked, “How long do we get?”
“Thirty minutes. Maybe less, depending on how busy they are.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
Naomi exhaled slowly and nodded.
“She’ll be grateful you came,” he said.
Naomi didn’t respond.
The road straightened, and the county jail came into view ahead—a low, concrete building surrounded by chain-link fencing and razor wire. The parking lot was half full, mostly older vehicles with dents and faded paint as well as law enforcement vehicles.
